


Travelling Soldier (I Cried)

by Cassiopeias_Sky



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vietnam, Bucky x Reader, F/M, Reader Insert, Vietnam War, cause that's how I roll, if you aren't sad when you're done then i clearly didn't do my job, yep another songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:40:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23074642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiopeias_Sky/pseuds/Cassiopeias_Sky
Summary: A moment of kindness sparks a connection between a girl and a handsome young man on the day he ships off to boot camp.  They write letters and fall in love, but this is war and not all love stories have happy endings.This songfic is based on the song Travelling Soldier by the Dixie Chicks.  Song lyrics are in bold.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Travelling Soldier (I Cried)

Sunday, March 12, 1967

It was a normal Sunday morning at the café; the first morning rush is done, and now there should be a lull until the after-church crowd hits at half past eleven. After straightening the ribbon serving as a headband and making sure the bow is on top, you deftly collect your tip and wipe down the last table so you can refill the salt shakers. If you’re lucky, you should be able to get an hour or so of studying done before it picks up again. Tim, the café’s owner and cook, is more than happy to let you study while it’s slow as long as you’re prepared for the busy times. Junior year of high school is no joke, especially when you’re taking Honors level classes.

Closing your American History textbook at exactly 10:45, you look through the big plate glass window to see a young man waiting at the bus stop across the street. He’s in his army greens; he strikes a handsome figure, but he looks a little unsure. It’s no wonder, you think to yourself, this war is awful and feels like it’s been going on forever. There have been so many soldiers leaving but not nearly enough coming home.

You thank God every night for the fact that you don’t have any brothers. Your daddy served in WWII; you’ve heard the stories. He’d wanted a son, but now he’s just as grateful as you that he never got one.

You try to distract yourself from your thoughts by humming a tune as you pack up your books. After returning your backpack to the back room you straighten your bow once again – the silly thing keeps sliding down – and check to see that your apron is on straight before heading back out to the dining area.

Someone has taken a seat in the window booth of your section; the one that you were seated at just a few minutes ago. “Hi, welcome! May I take your order?” You don’t notice until you’re standing next to the table that it’s the young man you’d seen waiting across the street.

Seated now in front of you is the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen, with striking blue-grey eyes, brunette hair, and a sweetly shy smile that you can’t help but think would be devastating under better circumstances.

“Hello, miss,” his voice is quiet but even as he removes his hat and places it neatly on the table. “Just a coffee, please.”

“Sure thing, I’ll have it right out.” You nod as you head over to the beverage station and return shortly with a cup, a carafe of freshly brewed coffee, sugar, and cream. You bite your lip, trying to find a reason to stay in the presence of the boy with the enchanting smile for just a few seconds longer. “Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?” He doesn’t seem a while lot older than you, but he’s old enough to be a soldier so you treat him with the respect you feel he deserves. 

“Oh no, miss, you don’t have to call me ‘sir,’” he shakes his head slightly and looks down as a blush dusts his cheeks; if you hadn’t already been entranced you would be now. “My name is James, but my friends call me Bucky.”

“Well, then you don’t have to call me ‘miss.’” You give him your name as his shy smile transforms into a brilliant grin. “It’s very nice to meet you, Bucky.” 

“That’s a real pretty name,” he murmurs before taking a deep breath. “I know it’s not in your job description, but **would you mind sitting down for a while and talking to me? I’m feeling a little low**_,” _he confesses. “I’m early – my bus won’t be here for a few more hours – and, well, I guess I’d rather spend my time talking to someone like you than thinking about where I’m headed.”

How could you say no? There’s just something about him.

“**I’m off in an hour and I know where we can go,**” you reply brightly, almost not believing that someone as handsome as him would take an interest in a bookish person like yourself.

But Bucky nods, flashing you a lopsided grin, “I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

The minutes drag by, and you find yourself looking over at his table without even meaning to. He’s caught you a few times, and you’ve caught him stealing glances as well; eventually the two of you are gazing at each other like idiots from across the room.

“Honey, ain’t you a little young for him?” Tim leans across the counter as he grins at you. He’s a kind man in his late 60s, with a shock of unruly white hair and a deeply lined face etched from decades of joy and sadness. He and his wife, Esmeralda, hadn’t been able to have kids so they tend to more or less adopt the people that come to work for them; he’s practically a grandfather to you.

“Oh, leave her alone, Tim,” Esmeralda pats your cheek with a grandmotherly affection, “That boy looks like he must have lied on his enlistment form, cause he sure doesn’t look like he’s even graduated high school yet.” She turns to you and whispers with a wink, “He’s cute, and he’s clearly taken a liking to you. Make sure you find out where he’s headed so you can send him some letters.”

Caught somewhere between mortified and encouraged, you just nod. 

Esmeralda laughs as she shakes her head, “Just head on out, honey. You’ve only got 10 minutes left anyway so I’ll finish up your last table.”

Well, she certainly doesn’t have to tell you twice. “Thanks Esmeralda!” You give her a quick squeeze and speed walk into the back room.

“Deep breath, deep breath,” you mutter while absolutely not following your own advice. What are you doing? You are technically allowed to date but is a soldier really the best idea? This war has taken so much and there’s no end in sight – and good heavens your daddy would be so upset – but there’s something about him that won’t let you go. “Oh, for crying out loud, he asked for some company, not your hand in marriage. Get a grip on yourself.” This time you more or less listen to your instructions, but you figure it still doesn’t hurt to look your best so you redo your ribbon, secure the bow on top, and remove your apron before swiping on a bit of lip balm. It feels like it took forever, but you can finally retrace the steps back to his table.

He’s already standing as he watches as you approach, his smile getting wider the closer you get. 

“Are you ready, Bucky?”

“I sure am.” He holds out his arm for you to take – internally you’re screaming about what a handsome gentleman he is, but outwardly you’re mostly calmly as you link yours with his. It feels right.

Twenty minutes later, the two of you are sitting at the edge of the pier with your feet dangling above the water.

“What school do you go to?” Bucky squints into the sunlight as he lets his head fall back.

Trying not to be obvious, you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He seems a bit more comfortable now, and God, the lights in the café hadn’t done him justice. He’s _beautiful_. “I’m a Junior at Southside.”

He laughs unexpectedly. “Ah, so you’re a Tiger!”

“You know our mascot?” 

He grins mischievously, “Only cause I was an Eagle.”

“You went to Baxton Hall?” The crosstown rivalries between the two schools is well known in your area – it makes for some really charged football games and some _really_ bizarre pranks. 

“Sure did.”

Taking a deep, dramatic breath as you clutch at your pretend pearls, you giggle, “Oh no, I hope no one sees me fraternizing with the enemy!”

He plays along with sparkling eyes, “Well if I had known you were there, I would have willingly defected.”

You duck your head as the heat rises to your face as you wish fervently for words to come. Why can’t you flirt? Why are you so bad at this?

Bucky seems to sense your sudden shyness because he slightly changes the direction of the conversation as he leans toward you. “You’re real easy to talk to.” He looks down and studies his hands in his lap. “It only would have been for a couple of years, but it would have been nice.” 

There’s a sadness in his voice that overrules your bashfulness. “Didn’t you have a lot of friends at Baxton?” He _definitely_ would have been one of the most popular boys at your school.

“Not really, no. Just a few. Most of the people in my class didn’t want to sit with the kid that was orphaned at 8 years old – they never knew what to say.” Your heart clenches at his words but he perks up, “But I did have Stevie. He and his ma took me in; they became my family. But then Stevie got sick a couple years ago and didn’t survive the winter, and Sarah didn’t survive losing him. She passed last summer. She said I made her proud, though. Said I was the first in her family to graduate high school, and she was even prouder that I did it a year early.”

“You graduated at seventeen?”

“Mmm hmm.” He smiles and nods. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Sure.”

“It was my birthday 2 days ago.”

“Really? Well happy birthday!” It’s so unlike you but you spontaneously pull him into a quick hug, nearly spilling the both of you into the water below. “You should have said something at the café, I would have gotten you a piece of pie!”

He laughs, and you wonder how someone like him happened to walk into your life. Then reality sits on your bubble, and you remember why he was waiting at that bus stop. “I wish you weren’t leaving.” The words, so forward and honest, leave your lips but when you see the hopeful look on his face you can’t find it in yourself to regret them.

“I don’t want to go,” Bucky confesses. “It was never my dream or anything, it’s just something I gotta do. For Stevie. He wanted so badly to fight for his country.” He swallows hard at the memory. “So when I realized that he was never gonna get to live his dream, I promised him I’d do it for him. I sent in my enlistment forms as early as I could, and now that I’m eighteen I can start making good on that promise.”

“You’re a good man, Bucky Barnes.”

He shrugs bashfully. “I’m trying.”

“You _are_.” The truth of your statement rings in your bones. You might not be able to flirt to save your life, but you’re an excellent judge of character.

He grins at you and you beam right back at him, and even though you’re young and inexperienced, you’re pretty sure the overwhelming feeling you have right now is love.

“So what do you do for fun?”

The conversation turns lighter as you tell him of your passions. He learns that you play the piccolo in the marching band, that you volunteer at the local pet clinic, and that you hope to go to college after high school. You aren’t completely sure what you want to do yet, but you do know that you don’t want to be a housewife like your momma. She’s amazing and quite honestly your hero, but she sometimes talks about how she’d wanted to become a biologist. It was a different time, though, and she had felt that the world wouldn’t allow her to follow that dream as well as the dream of having and raising a family. She chose family, but she encourages you to not settle with having to choose.

“Your ma sounds amazing.” Bucky sends a wink your way that makes your tummy flip, “That must be where you get it from.” 

Thirsty for more knowledge about him, you begin peppering him with questions and learn that he loves boxing, math, and astronomy, and that he hopes that the army will eventually allow him to work within their technology development divisions. His already bright eyes light up even more as he tells you about how badly he wants to go to the moon. “You know it’s gonna happen soon! They’re gonna do it, and I hope one day I’ll be able to do it, too.”

This makes you both look up into the sky, searching for a moon that isn’t visible.

“Few more days and we’d be able to see it.” His voice is quiet, almost reverent.

“See what?”

“Yesterday was the new moon. During the first and last quarter of the moon phase you can see the moon during the day cause it is has the right positioning and isn’t too close to the sun.”

“You are so smart.” It’s hard not to stare at him, especially with the blush that’s returned to his cheeks.

“Hey,” he begins, suddenly turning shy again. “**I bet you got a boyfriend, but I don’t care. I’ve got no one to send a letter to – would you mind if I sent one back here to you**_?_”

You can’t help but smile broadly. “Bucky, I don’t have a boyfriend – my parents said that I couldn’t date until I turned seventeen, and that just happened last month.” Flashing a self deprecating smile, you continue, “It’s not like I’ve got a line of suitors banging at my door. I’m kind of a nerd.”__

“Well,” Bucky begins, “their loss. If I’d met you earlier, I would’ve asked you out the morning of your birthday. A sweet, pretty girl like you should have a boyfriend, one that treats her right. If you don’t mind waiting for me, I’d love the chance to be yours.”

“Well Bucky, I think I’d love that, too,” your voice sounds much calmer than you feel as he leans in to seal the deal with a gentle kiss; your first kiss. 

It’s slow and fast all at once, and when he pulls away he’s wide eyed, almost like he can’t believe he just did that. “Was…was that okay?” 

“Mmm hmm,” you nod, maybe a little more enthusiastic than strictly necessary, and you feel the ribbon in your hair start to slide out of place. It gives you an idea. “Here,” you pull the ribbon completely out and untie the bow. “Give me your hand.” He does as you ask, and you gently loop it around his right wrist before tying another bow. “There. Now you’ll have something to remind you of me.”

Bucky stares at you with an astonished smile. “As if I could ever forget you.”

* * *

You begin to miss him before he even gets on the bus that will take him to Fort Irwin in California, but you receive the first letter in just six days, dated the day he left.

March 12, 1967,

Hello Beautiful,

I’m not even <strike>three</strike> two hours away and I had to start writing to you. I can’t get you out of my mind, and I think that’s okay. I don’t want to be too forward here, but <strike>I really</strike> you felt like home, almost like I’ve known you for my entire life. I haven’t felt that in a long time. Like I said, you’re real easy to talk to and that’s a special trait. I hope you’re doing okay, and you’ll probably get this too late but good luck on your history test on Friday. I’ll write again soon.

Yours, 

Bucky

March 19, 1967,

Dear Bucky,

I <strike>passed</strike> aced it! I was worried I wouldn’t, but I did! I have a science test coming up in a few days, but I’m not worried about it because it’s about the moon and the solar system. I’ve been spending a lot of my free time reading about the moon because it reminds me of you, so I’m <strike>probably</strike> definitely more prepared than I’ve ever been for a test. And I saw it just a few days ago during the day, just like you said I would! I’d say that it made me wish you were here, but I wish that anyway. I don’t know how you did it in such a short time, but you sure got under my skin, Bucky Barnes. I hope basic is going alright for you! I’ll write again in a few days.

Forever yours,

Me

You bite your lip as you contemplate your reply to Bucky. Is it too much? Too honest? Maybe you should take the ‘Forever’ out? Maybe you shouldn’t be so cheeky, maybe you should actually sign your name? But then you reread his letter, and like it has the first 20 times you’ve read it, your heart skips a beat at the greeting.

Before you can second guess yourself any more than you already have, you fold the letter, stuff it in the envelope, and seal it. It goes out with the morning mail.

The letters come twice a week, at least. Bucky tells you about his training – he did just fine in basic, and now he’s excelling in his advanced individual training; it’s hard, but his love of boxing gave him a significant physical advantage over most of the other men he was training with. That makes you proud, but your favorite parts of his letters are when he opens up his heart to you. He tells you about Stevie, and about Sarah. Sometimes you laugh out loud, sometimes you cry for him. He tells you about his fears – things aren’t going well overseas, and one of his biggest worries is that he’ll let his unit down. Eight weeks in, he tells you about his mom and dad. He shares how he felt when they died, how hard it was to move forward, and how scary it was. But then his words gain a hopeful note when he repeats, once again, how he found another family in the Rogers’, and now in you.

Of course, he tells you about the moon. Every time he learns something new or hears something about the progress in getting to the moon, he writes it down and sends it to you. You can practically hear the enthusiasm in his voice when you read the words, and that’s why you read them over and over again, and also why you’ve started collecting newspaper clippings on the subject. You send a few in your letters to him, but you save most of them so you can put them in a photo album and give them to him when he returns. 

You eagerly respond to every letter, usually on the day you receive them. The words you write tell him how proud you are of his accomplishments and how much you miss him. He won’t let his unit down – you know this deep down in your bones, and you tell him so. Every Sunday you walk across town to the cemetery holding Stevie’s and Sarah’s graves and spend an hour or so reading his letters to them. You were worried when you told him this that he would think you were silly or even crazy, but when you received his reply it was obvious that you had nothing to worry about.

June 18, 1967

Hello <strike>Beauti</strike> my beautiful girl,

I’m about to start my last two weeks of AIT, so this might be the last letter you receive from me until after I get overseas. Our superiors are getting more and more strict – they’re doing their best to prepare us. I’ll still think of you every day, even if I can’t write. You’re always on my mind, even when you’re not supposed to be.

Thank you for visiting Stevie and Sarah for me. When I read your last letter and you said you were doing that, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. You are the sweetest girl I ever met and I thank God every day that he gave me the idea to get coffee while I waited for the bus. Stevie’s birthday is on the 4th of July – if you could just tell him I said hi and happy birthday on your next visit, I’d really like that. Who am I kidding, of course you will. Beautiful, you’re practically an angel.

I ship out for Vietnam the first week of July. I’m a little <strike>worried</strike> <strike>scared</strike> honestly I’m terrified that I’m not coming back, but I want you to know that I’m gonna do everything I can to come home to you. When I left it was for Stevie, and besides, I thought I didn’t have anything to stay for anyway. But then I met you. We have a deal, Beautiful, and I plan to honor that deal. Besides, I need to get this ribbon back to you – I keep it in my pocket but I can’t wait to see it in your pretty hair again. Just keep waiting for me, okay? I promise I’ll get to you as soon as I can. 

I love you.

I hope it’s okay that I wrote that, but it’s true so I’m not sorry.

I love you. 

Yours forever,

Bucky

Your hands shake when you read, reread, and read the letter again. 

“Honey? You planning on taking these plates to that table over there or are they gonna walk themselves?” Considering the amount of exasperation in his voice, Tim has obviously been trying to get your attention for a while.

“What? Oh! I’m sorry, I’ll bring them right over!” Pocketing the letter before picking up the two breakfast platters, the syrup selection, and the extra butter they had requested, you serve the table that has been so patiently waiting. After making sure they have everything they need, you practically run back to the kitchen. “Esmeralda, is it okay if I take my 15 now? I have a letter I’d like to write before the postman gets here.”

She flashes a knowing smile. “Better get writing, he’ll be here shortly.”

“Thank you!” you yell over your shoulder as you pick up your book bag and head out the back door. Taking a seat at the picnic table next to where the employees park, you whip out your notebook.

June 24, 1967

My dearest Bucky,

<strike>Of course it</strike> Bucky I love you, too! And I am so proud of you! There’s so much more I want to say, but I want this letter to get to you before you ship out so I’ll save it for my next letter when I have more time.

Bucky Barnes, you better believe I’m waiting for you. I’m **never gonna hold the hand of another guy**. I think You’re it for me.

Love,

Me

***

Summer 1967

You still write a few times a week, but his letters start coming few and far between. It isn’t because he’s changed his mind about you – you know better than to allow your darkest doubts to even whisper that – it’s because he’s stationed at the front line. You’ve seen the news, and your heart jumps into your throat every time you hear of casualties from your state. There’s more than you’d like to acknowledge, and so you pray every night for his safety. He might be halfway across the world from you, but Bucky is never too far from your thoughts.

***

August 8, 1967

Hello my sweet, beautiful girl,

God, I miss you so much. Thank you for the cookies and the picture – the guys are so jealous, they say my girl sure is pretty and they can’t believe how well you bake. And THANK YOU for the newspaper clipping about the moon launch progress!! I’m telling you, it’s going to happen soon!

Beautiful, I want you to know that I think about you all the time. In fact, thoughts of you are what get me through this daily hell. **When it’s getting kinda rough over here, I think of that day sitting down at the pier and I close my eyes, and see your pretty smile**_._ And then, for a while, everything is better. And now I have your picture, so can I have you over my heart (in my pocket).

**Don’t worry, but I won’t be able to write for awhile** _._

I love you.

Yours forever, 

Bucky

***

September 1967

School is back in session, and you’re grateful for the distraction. You haven’t heard from Bucky in over a month and despite the assurances in his last letter, you’re worried. You read and reread his letters to you; you even bring them with you to school, tucking them into a pocket of your backpack so you can have them close.

Friday night is the Homecoming game, and you’re scheduled to play in the pep band during the football game; it’s a tradition that all Seniors play. You’re excited for it – it’s always so much fun and the team is really good this year. You dress in your school colors – an orange sweater with a black skirt and the orange knee socks that you’ve worn to every football game since you were a Freshman. It doesn’t match your outfit at all, but you tie your hair back in a ribbon that’s the same color as Bucky’s eyes, grab your piccolo, kiss your parents goodbye, and head out the door.

The energy in the stadium is electric – your team is playing your crosstown rival. 

_Bucky’s_ _school_.

It’s a bittersweet comfort; somehow it makes it feel like he’s here with you, but it also makes you miss him more. His absence is an ache deep in your bones.

For now, though, the game is about to start. The players are warmed up, the cheerleaders are ready, **the Lord’s Prayer said and the Anthem sang**_, _when the announcer unexpectedly breaks in. “**Folks, would you bow your heads for a list of local Vietnam dead**_.”_

Your heart in your throat, you have no choice but to listen.

“Zachary Martin Anderson.”

A few people in the band start whispering, and the boy in front of you hangs his head. You knew of Zach – he was a nice boy that graduated from your school last year.

“Jonathan Jeffery Andrews.”

Blinking back tears, you hear more murmurs. You knew Jon, too – he used to carry your momma’s groceries for her that time she broke her ankle.

“Daniel Ethan Ball.”

This isn’t a familiar name to you, but it doesn’t matter. It’s heavy on your heart anyway.

Feeling infinitely guilty, you begin whispering, “Please, please be done with the Bs…”

“James Buchanan Barnes.”

No.

_No_.

“What…what name did he just read?” No one answers you; the announcer isn’t done with the list yet.

It doesn’t matter. You know what you heard.

The blood rushes into your ears and it becomes hard to breath…there’s no air here…no air at all. A few minutes later the band begins playing and you don’t even recognize the song. What are you doing here? God, it hurts so bad it hurts and _you can’t breathe_. You throw down your piccolo with a strangled cry, hitting the boy next to you but you don’t care. You vaguely register hearing your band director yelling your name, but you ignore him - you probably couldn’t have coherently answered if you’d tried. Running out of the band section, you blindly push through the crowds of students without knowing where you’re going until you get there.

Finally alone under the stands, the sobs start coming hard and fast. The football game begins, and for the life of you, you can’t understand how they can play. How can they play a _game_ when so many people died?

When _Bucky_ died?

It occurs to you that this has happened so often that by now people have grown numb unless it’s one of their own.

Now one of yours.

He was supposed to be yours forever. He’d promised. You had a _deal_.

But he’s gone.

_Gone_.

You’ll never get to hold his hand.

You’ll never get to do anything the two of you had planned, had dreamed.

It breaks you, grinds you into the dirt you’ve crumbled down upon. Your screams blend in with the cheers. Your sobs blend in with the chants. Your heartbroken wails blend in with the music as the band plays.

When you cry into the quiet, a shiver runs up your spine. The temperature has dropped and it’s a little damp. Your feet are cold, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, not really. It takes a few minutes for you to realize that the game is over, and probably has been for a while; the stands are deserted. With your heart shattered into millions of sharp, tiny pieces, you finally pick yourself up off the ground and head home. 

The kitchen light is on. You’re past curfew.

You can’t make yourself care.

When you step into the kitchen there’s no chastising, no lecturing about responsibility. Instead, your momma rises from the table to wrap you in her fluffy, pink robed arms as your daddy watches you with wet cheeks.

Wet cheeks? On _your_ daddy? You’ve never seen him cry before.

This realization has a lot less impact than it should.

“Baby? Your, uh, the boy you told us about? Your soldier?” Her voice is calm and soothing, but you hear her concern in it. Over her shoulder you can see the Western Union slip clutched in your daddy’s hand.

“He, um –“

“I know, Momma.” The tears start anew, although you’d have sworn there weren’t any left. A second set of arms comes around you – your daddy. It’s like they’re trying to hold you together and although you appreciate their care – you do – it just isn’t enough.

The truth of the matter is that you’ll never be whole again.

Your momma, upon seeing how happy you were, how much you’d _glow_ when you received a letter from Bucky, had been supportive of your choice. Your daddy, the decorated WWII veteran, was another story. This exact situation is the reason why. There are tears in his voice when he finally speaks, “I’m so sorry, baby. I never wanted you to know what this feels like.”

They eventually lead you to sit at the kitchen table, and while your momma goes to make you a cup of tea, your daddy kneels in front of you and takes your hands into his.

“He must have really loved you, baby. You’re listed as his next of kin.”

The tears start again, harder this time. 

He waits until the worst is over before continuing, “The telegram came a couple of hours ago. We went to the game to try to find you, but no one knew where you were. Your band director said you ran off during the announcement. Since we couldn’t find you, we just came home to wait.” His eyes get watery; your daddy’s proud, strong eyes have tears in them. “I hope it’s okay, I made some calls to get more details so you wouldn’t have to wait for the formal condolence letter. James, uh,” your daddy stops to rub his eyes, “James was a hell of a soldier. He died saving the life of the soldier he was patrolling with.”

A minuscule smile finds its way to your lips. “That sounds like something Bucky would do.”

Your daddy nods. “I should have known you’d pick a good one.” He swallows hard. “James’ – I mean Bucky’s unit was able to recover his body. They’ll send him back so he can be laid to rest here.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Your sore, swollen eyes turn to the slip of paper on the table. You don’t need to read it to know what it says, but you do anyway. Skimming past the “regret to inform you” and the “deepest sympathies,” you get to the line that matters.

“**The soldier’s coming home**_.”_


End file.
